stay in my arms (it's not yet morning)
by MochaInTheSun
Summary: It's not morning, not yet. Here in the sheets they are safe.


_i._  
It happens exactly as she knew it would.  
Her, in bed, hands clenched into fists, face wet with tears. She holds in her sobs, biting her lips. The hard steel of the bed makes her back cold. Somewhere a clock ticks.  
"Why are you crying?"  
She doesn't need to turn to her side to see him sitting there, perched on the table, but almost hovering. A ghost.  
But she turns any way.  
Why are you here? He doesn't answer; his eyes scan around as if trying to figure out her surroundings. She realizes he can't see her as she sees him.  
(He would blush at the sight of one of her rarely-worn night slips. The soft fabric laid across the chair like moonlight).  
" I don't know."

"But why are you crying?"

He stands up and comes closer to her. She knows it isn't actually him; but it is him.  
She looks and looks at him. His eyes are dark, dark as they always were; the circles underneath makes him look so much older. Tired and weary. Oh the mighty Gods. Look upon your work.  
He moves towards her, and her hand instinctively reaches out to pull him closer. He startles, but comes closer to her anyway. The clock still ticks.  
I'm sorry. "Why?" I couldn't.  
He doesn't ask her anything else. Sits and holds her hand.  
"Is it warm where you are now? You know, I have always wanted to go to a place where I can see the sun."  
He looks at her and says with an honesty that makes her heart swell "But I guess you've had enough of the sun."  
A change of weather can be nice sometimes.  
She remembers wanting to see green grass and flowers. Fresh, wet, soaked in light and beaming a thousand colors. She puts her hand out to touch the petals. They are soft.  
"That is nice. From where I grew up there was a lot of them."  
That's not fair. "What?" You reading my mind.  
His lips are not moving as she hears his voice. It's soft – like it's in her head. But she hears him.  
She wants to call his name and touch his face and run her fingers along his scars. All of them. She wants to start with kisses and tenderness and end in sweats and a sadness that she knows will haunt her.  
He looks and looks at her, as if by looking at her he will have all the answers he need. She knows this because she is doing the same thing.  
The clock stops and he is gone.  
She blinks and turns away from where he was sitting.  
Sobs.  
The stars turn around her. The clock ticks.

 _ii._

The second night it happens she is in his room.  
(She knows she is in his room because he is without a shirt, and she can see all the scars on his body.)  
He seems startled but makes no move. Still and unsure and hopeful.  
"You're here."  
Yes I'm here. She looks around; his cape and black shirt folded neatly and laid on a table, next to his shoes. She burrows her eyebrows in amusement because of course he would lay his shoes on a table.  
"They're new."  
She looks back at him. Sometimes she forgets that he can read her mind. Can dig into the corners of her brain and gaze upon her memories. "It feels like looking at a lake under the sun. They all move and reflect the light. Sometimes I don't know what to look."  
Can I look at yours?  
He doesn't say anything, just stands up and moves to stand next to her. His steps are slow, steady, unlike her heartbeat as she feels him moving close.  
He takes her right hand and puts it on his forehead. His skin feels hot under hers.  
"Look."  
She places her hand on his forehead, and horizons after horizons open up for her. She can hear him laugh, can smell the mimosas in the gardens of where he used to live. The wet, almost metallic smell of freshly cut grass. The sky, blue. Once.  
He doesn't say much when she gasps for air. It's almost too much for her. Too many memories. She doesn't have much of those.  
He grabs her hand from his forehead and places it on his chest. It doesn't surprise her.  
She comes closer and breathes out his name. B-e-n, the syllables escape her lips with so much tenderness she feels like crying. B-e-n…  
He glances at her lips and the silence in the room heightens the humming of their hearts. Outside, the stars are speaking, in an old, coded language of lights only the Gods may understand.  
He kisses her.  
And kisses her.

She only smiles and tugs on his hair. It's soft – unlike hers. The heat and sand from all those years was not forgiving.  
He holds her face in his hands, their foreheads touching each other. "I want to stay like this," he says. In the dark. In this room and now, "where all that matters is just how close I am to you."  
Their light sabers' handles glimmer, put next to his clothes and hers.

 _iii._

There is a house, white, white walls and ancient statues.  
There is a garden, green, with white mimosas. Their petals velvet.  
There is a lake. The water sparkles.

She wakes up, and finds him next to hers. His skin warm and glistens of sweats. She reaches out her hand and places it on his ankle. He might disappear.  
"I won't", he whispers.  
She looks at him; in this silver light of night he looks so much younger. He looks like a boy she knows. From a long time ago. Somewhere. Someday.  
She comes back to him, lays her head on his arm. Their noses touch; and she breathes in. It really happened. It did. He smiles at that. He looks at her and looks at her and she wishes everyone will ride off to the sunset and they get rid of all the bad people and there will be no more bad people for them to get rid of.  
"It doesn't work that way."  
But god damn it she wants it to work. Because she wants them to work. She wants to be like this with him, naked and tired and wanting to do it all over again. She doesn't have to tell him – he knows – but she tells him anyway. She says I want this with you. Just like this. Says I don't want to run, I don't want to fight it.  
She tries pleading, crying, touching him so he will say yes to it. "I can't, Rey. I can't, I can't."  
And she hates him; hates him for not saying yes. Please, Ben, please.  
Please.  
When he kisses her she can taste the tears.  
And when he leaves she doesn't look at him.

 _iv._

She waits. The night is still and the stars are bright.  
Their sides fought today. People died. Sometimes she forgets those troopers are people. People born to do the one thing they know.  
"You shouldn't be feeling guilty. War is war. They know what they were doing."  
Do they?  
She doesn't turn around and Sometimes I think you were right and Maybe I'm not the one who can help these people like I should have been.  
She inhales as she feels his hands around her waist; he places kisses on the side of her neck.  
Hi.  
"Hi."  
Here, he finds her. In the dark of night with the stars blinking outside almost like a cape of diamonds has covered the universe. Come here, she says. He does and they kiss and he licks the spot behind her ear and damn the universe.  
"What should we do?"  
She doesn't know. She traces his palm with her fingers and Hey, can you read the stars? "A little. Dad taught me." And she hears the guilt, the shame and she kisses him, and Teach me.  
Teach me.  
"Okay", he breathes. "Here's Orion, here's Taurus,…" and the room is warm with sighs and quiet breaths.  
It's not morning, not yet. Here in the sheets they are safe.  
But she will find a way. She will find a way.  
So they can be together as the sun rises.


End file.
